


Set Fire to Flames, Vivien

by veracity_fiction



Category: Original Work
Genre: Character Study, Fiction, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Original Fiction, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27580900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veracity_fiction/pseuds/veracity_fiction
Summary: Vivien's life is a pendulum swing. Sometimes they wish it wasn't, but we don't always get what we wish for, do we?
Kudos: 1





	Set Fire to Flames, Vivien

First came the dim realization that someone had started talking. Then came the chill as the sunlight that had been falling across their skin and filling their eyes vanished, leaving Vivien to blink and shiver as they processed what was happening. Why had someone started to scream? The anger-upset-fury bounced off them, incomprehensible, as they looked up at their father, whose cheeks had turned a ruddy tomato color. Not even a nice, fresh tomato – a bruised one that had started to rot inside. Or one that had been dropped, maybe. A nice metaphor either way, even if the fallout from whatever they'd done to anger him felt a lot less nice. At least they were still hidden beneath the layers of fog wrapped around their mind. They didn't want to feel any of this, rebelled inwardly at even the thought. Whatever their father had gotten worked up about this time was probably just as stupid as the last… well, however many times it had happened. Keeping count had become pointless once they'd passed a certain number.

"Robin, you stupid shit! What the hell did you do to the TV? It's game day in twenty minutes," he growled, grabbing their wrist to yank them to their feet. They could feel the slim bones grinding together under his grip. "You better fix that shit right now, you understand me?"

Vivien cocked their head. Robin? It took them a minute to remember that that was their name. Their birth name, anyway. They'd long since drifted so far from it that they'd given themself a new name, one that felt more natural. In the space of time that they took to consider that fact, though, the realization hit that they'd already begun moving downstairs toward the den, padded carpet sinking beneath their slight weight with each step. Stomach dropping, they paused. When had that decision been made? Who made it?

Then again, better not to think when time was of the essence. Bodies had an intelligence of their own. All they had to do was not fight it and finish this little task, and they'd be back upstairs in no time.

A rank smell – somewhere between beer and body odor – filled the living room area. Probably a little of both, come to think of it. Vivien wrinkled their nose and tossed their long blonde hair over their shoulder as they wandered over to the TV. Even though the stink hadn't wafted upstairs yet, they resolved to open a window or two when they could. No need to let it fester and sink into everything. Their father made that happen easily enough just by doing whatever he did all day when the furthest place he'd get off his ass to reach was the fridge or the gas station.

"See?" He demanded from over their shoulder. "It has that stupid shit all over the screen. How can you watch what's going on when you have all that shit covering it up? I turn on the TV to see games, Robin, not words. Stop doing this shit to me!"

Subtitles. He meant putting on subtitles. Resisting the urge to point to the button that was clearly labeled subtitles, they adjusted the settings with a couple dispassionate clicks and then set the remote down close to their father's usual seat on the couch. That was all? Sheesh. Anyone with half a brain could figure that out, as long as they had the attention span to look at the remote. Which… what am I thinking? He clearly doesn't. They kept their mouth shut, though. Setting him off could be easy enough without talking back. No need to fan the flames any higher, as a general rule.

Ascending the stairs felt like being reborn; coming up from darkness to a world filled with light. Vivien grinned absently as they moved to open all three windows, which were the best feature of their tiny, rectangular room. They didn't have space for anything much beyond a small desk and, opposite that, a futon shoved against the eastern wall, but there were three large windows with sills big enough to sit on that looked north over the backyard, letting in light and fresh air whenever they came out of the fog long enough to remember to open them. Crystal charms hung down from the rod above the windows to catch that light when the curtains were open – almost all of them had been salvaged, when the neighbors got too lazy to clean them and tossed the decorations onto their tree lawns instead.

Not that Vivien minded. They had made a hobby out of cleaning these forgotten trinkets and bringing them home for a new life. The reflections and light soothed their heart when they couldn't retreat to the fog, when they had no other way to escape what came at night. So they made sure the windows were open and fell onto their bed. While the sun was still up, no matter what, they could always see where the windows were. A dim pink and yellow glow penetrated through their closed eyelids – if they cared enough to analyze things at the moment, it would even have allowed them to pick out every gossamer vein crossing through the thin skin.

Not today, though. Today, they wanted to drift a while longer. They wanted nothing to bother them, to think about nothing, and especially to be hurt by nothing. They'd set an alarm for later to remind them to do homework. That felt like enough to get done for the day. Homework was important, after all, and pleasing their father and his stupid demands just wasn't. As a general rule, they only tried to do the bare minimum when it came to him. That way he hit them less. Other than that? Dead loss. He didn't see it like that, obviously, but he'd long since given up any say he got to have over what they cared about. All without even knowing it.

Vivien hummed a flat note. Was it ironic that by seeking total control over them, their father had succeeded at earning the exact opposite? Maybe. That felt like the kind of thing that would be ironic. If they paid more attention in writing classes they might even know for sure; they couldn't be bothered to do that, though, so they set the thought aside and rubbed idly at their right wrist, feeling an ache below the skin. Had he given them another bruise when forcing them to get up earlier? Now that they tried to recall, his grip had been pretty harsh. The bruise might have even gone down to the muscle. If it had, so much for going without jewelry until that healed.

Funny enough, they didn't go without jewelry often. Skin as pale as theirs made bruises stand out as bad as burn marks. Burn marks could be easier to hide, actually, given that they tended to go pink as they healed, not dark purple or green or– well. Bruise colored.

Once they had their fingerless gloves on and some jewelry covering the worst marks, though, they might be able to go outside a while. August came to an end early here. They'd have to enjoy the sunlight while it lasted. Sweater weather would be on them before they knew it. Then the snow and ice would come, making it hard to take an easy stroll down to the park.

Hard to escape in general.

Vivien sat up and rolled off their bed, ready to transfer to their seat at the desk, where their phone sat on a pile of textbooks and papers that they'd laid out last night before bed. Turning off their homework alarm, they made sure they had their calculator and a pencil out before diving into the algebra worksheet that Kline had distributed on Friday. Better keep up with things when they felt well enough. It helped offset the work they missed on days they had no energy to do anything, or when they simply couldn't keep up with how much work teachers dumped on high school sophomores.

What's with that, anyway? It's like they think their class is the only important class we have. Vivien shook their head. We have to be able to sleep sometimes. Unless they want us to be tired and stressed all the time. For four years.

At least they had just two more to go, not counting the remainder of this year. Which meant not counting... the next ten months. Roughly.

Wonderful.

Shaking their head, Vivien reached over to flick on the boom box that sat beside their work station on the desk. The CD that they'd put in earlier began to play, providing a soothing soundtrack to work to. But even then Vivien couldn't help drifting away into a fresh fantasy: it would be nice to get out and head to the music store soon. Post-rock artists were hard to find on mainstream platforms, especially for someone with no access to the internet except the library computers. They liked the local CD shop, though. The owner kept it clean and well-lit, and there were great places to sit in between browsing; that worked to his advantage, given how crowded the coffee shop next door could be during rush hours.

A car horn outside brought their daydream crashing down. Vivien twisted to stare out the window, frowning, then turned back to the worksheet.

"Right," they muttered. "Gotta focus."

Judging from the subject matter, this was going to take a while.

oOoOo

Tears trailed down Vivien's cheek as they sat on the windowsill, hugging their knees to their chest. Night had long since fallen outside. The trees rustled in a slow breeze, rising and falling like a single unified set of lungs in their long breaths. Wind chimes tinkled from the porch next door; Vivien wanted to smile at the sound, and closed their eyes to listen better, but even then the pain didn't go away. More bruises coated their arms - so bad that even the moonlight made them stand out in harsh relief - and phantom hands still seemed to skate over their skin, making the hairs stand on end like tiny toy soldiers. Vivien swallowed against the sick feeling that turned somewhere deep inside, threatening to make their dinner, pitiful as it had been, make a reemergence, but otherwise remained where they were, unable to find the heart to move.

Where would they even go? Sleeping was out of the question on nights like these.

They longed to turn on their favorite music. It was quiet and familiar and soothing. Yet another part of them rebelled, sick to death with pretending that everything was okay. They had no idea where it came from; still, the perverse need to acknowledge the truth and lay down in it turned them to stone, keeping their body locked in a silent vigil beside the windows.

Tears rolled down their cheeks, and Vivien envied the freedom of water.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for indulging... whatever weirdness my stories contain, if you read this. Leave a kudos if you found it interesting, or review if you'd like - means the world to me when people do. Otherwise, hope I'll see you again reading my other works in the future.
> 
> Best,
> 
> Veracity.


End file.
